


Far Away

by katiebour



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Love, Reunions, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-26
Updated: 2011-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebour/pseuds/katiebour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Listen to this while reading:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XEPkpEFCsrM</p>
    </blockquote>





	Far Away

**Author's Note:**

> Listen to this while reading:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XEPkpEFCsrM

Kinnet Tabris stood on the shore of the Wounded Coast, the wind trying without success to pull her hair from its green leather tie.

She'd heard whispers, rumors, the last words of a fool dying by her hand after he'd tried to kill her.  In the last four years she'd accumulated both notice and enemies far and wide- too many inquiries, too much notoriety, too many people who knew the story of the flame-haired Warden who'd once been a blushing bride in Denerim's Alienage, the girl who'd risen from the ashes of her destroyed future and become something more, a Warden, _the_ Warden, the Savior of the Blight and Hero of Ferelden and a bunch of ridiculous titles that ignored reality in favor of sensationalism.

Kit Tabris had never been alone, and without Sten, Oghren, Wynne, her fearless dog Tenderfoot, Leliana, she'd never have slain the archdemon.

And without her brother in blood and spirit, Alistair, and the fierce and independent Morrigan, she'd never have survived it.

Alistair, who ruled Ferelden with honesty and charm and a wisdom that grew every day, wedded to Anora for the good of the kingdom.  

Kit smiled faintly- it was more accurate, really, to say that Alistair ruled when Anora allowed it, teaching him the deadly dance of court politics and appearances and intrigue even as his own boyish charm softened her into someone more human and less a hardened veteran of years of ruling alone.  Anora might have loved Cailan, but she'd been as much parent as wife, and he'd handed her the reins so that he could play Calenhad.  For all his sarcasm, Alistair was an intelligent man, and a good one, and he was partner where Cailan had been plaything.  Ferelden was lucky to have them both.

And somewhere beyond a mirror was Morrigan, with Alistair's child, the heir to the throne of Ferelden with the soul of an uncorrupted Old God.  And he was in all likelihood the only child Alistair would ever have- between the Taint and Anora, who'd failed to produce issue in the five years she'd been married to Cailan and who'd yet to produce any in the last seven years of her marriage to Alistair.  She was nearing forty, and it was less and less likely with every passing day that she'd ever bear children.

But that was a problem to be dealt with in due time.

And as her piercing green eyes scanned the dunes of the lifeless shore, Kit searched, as she'd been searching the past four years, for the one other person who'd helped to end the Blight.

The Crow who'd tried to kill her had looked at her, lifeblood trickling from him in a steady flow, and two predators had understood one another.  He'd nodded, and with his last words had rasped, "Kirkwall.  We tracked him to Kirkwall."

And so she'd gone, as she'd gone to Antiva City, and Afsaana, and Bastion and Llomerynn and Rialto and Salle and Treviso and Wycome, up and down the coast of three countries (if you counted the Free Marches as a country, that is), always too late, just a few steps behind, a week or a month behind him as he'd gathered allies and dispatched enemies.  She'd killed assassins who'd been tracking him, who'd gone after her, who'd assumed that they were working together.  Who didn't know the story of the Warden and her painted elf, after all?

But in truth he'd always been a few steps ahead, a few oft-re-folded letters, a satchet of Antivan herbs, and a jeweled earring in a pouch next to her heart the only sign she'd had of him in four years.

She'd tracked him here, had followed the trail of the Champion and her band, always a few steps behind, a few days too late.  She'd crouched beside the inert body of the Varterral and _known_ he'd been there, the signs of his camp obvious.  She'd touched the ground, hand covered in ashes of a fire he'd lit days before, and nearly wept.

And here she was, standing on the Wounded Coast at the falling of dusk, a pile of pillaged corpses stacked haphazardly a sign of battle.  She knew the sigils of the Crows as well as the scars on her own body by now, and she'd recognized the tattoos for what they were.  He was here, somewhere.

She walked for the next two hours, searching, searching, and when she rounded a dune and saw the faint glow of a campfire her breath froze in her throat.

 _Andraste, if ever you loved your children, please-_

She approached slowly, carefully, a figure by the firelight slowly resolving itself- green leather armor, a pair of daggers on the log next to him, hair the color of cornsilk in a waterfall over a shoulder, held in place by a slim braid-

The soft murmur of the gitar in his hands sang a sad, sweet song as he bent over it, intent.

She choked back a sob.  

"I would not advise skulking about at night, my friend," he said suddenly, without turning, "The dark can be a dangerous place."

He set the gitar aside and stood, stretching casually.  Kit noticed that both daggers were gone from their spot on the log, although where he'd hidden them was a mystery, for when he turned to face her, his hands were empty and held open in a show of friendly welcome.

He looked into the darkness, and she stood there, masked in her cloak and hood, filled with sudden fear.

"Will you not join me at the fire?  It is pleasant in comparison to the cold of this cursed place," he continued, eyes searching for a clue, at the ready.

 _What if he left because he was tired of me?  Too kind to ask for the earring back, but done with the Wardens and Taint and Blight and death?  Six years and only two letters, one visit.  We haven't seen each other in four years._

Her feet carried her forward into the faintly flickering light, and he nodded, hands down.  "Well-met, stranger-"

She pulled her hood down with nerveless fingers, and the words died on his lips.

They stared at each other, mere feet away, across an expanse of years and death and loneliness.

"Zevran," she said, and it sounded like a sob.

In the next moment he was there, crushing her to him, the smell of leather and Antivan herbs and he was shaking-

" _Mi corazón-_ " he whispered, and she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck.   

" _Amor de mi vida_ ," she whispered back, and held him tight.

**Author's Note:**

> The name Kenneth means “Born in fire,” and is appropriate for my Warden, so I modified the name slightly. Almost all of my toons are Kits, although they each have different full names. Anyway, I have more ideas for this fic and what comes after, not sure if I’ll write it but this part needed to be written.
> 
> This is technically a continuation of my Firsts series (which isn't posted to AO3), although I really want to rewrite those and improve them.


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